If you’ve ever been thirty feet under water, attempting to keep your body straight and your mind from drifting, you know how hard it is to express what diving is like. It’s just you and the water, and every turn and flip is a blur. People watching perceive grace, but inside, nerves are racing and adrenaline is pumping. Someone recently told me that the key to getting the perfect entry is to think of the water as rice paper. You should look tranquil, yet every muscle in your body needs to spring into place. It’s not clear, yet that small mental picture does wonders for some. See more on Adam McManus Etobicoke

Skiing, on the other hand, is all about costs and checks. The mountain won’t give you any breaks. One day it’s a beast, the next it’s gentle. It’s a lot like stocks, now that I think about it. Freestyle skiers and speedsters plan their runs, but occasionally the snow shifts, the weather changes, and everything you learned goes wrong. You ride it out, knees on fire, trusting that your muscles would remember how to get you to the bottom with all of your limbs.

When you play tennis, you only live one rally at a time. There is a rhythm, but it breaks. Fault, ace, and net cord. Every point wipes out the last one. It’s funny how sometimes your opponent isn’t on the other side of the net but in your head. Tennis players say they can “forget” terrible shots right away. Some people tie their shoelaces twice before important games, as if that could magically solve a serve.

In a strange way, finance and these sports have some things in common. Numbers go up and down. Trends go down and then come back up. The clock never actually stops. But if you only focus about charts and graphs, you’ll be caught off guard by something fresh faster than a skier on a mogul field. Sometimes, a choice is as swift as a volley at the net; other times, it’s a long, gradual drop like waiting on a diving platform for the correct market signal. Both worlds want to know what’s going to happen, but reality doesn’t always follow the script.

People don’t always see how many hours went into these projects. The plans you missed with friends and the mornings that start before the sun rises. The heartbreaks, like missing dives, falling on the tennis court, and losing money, and the little wins that mean the world, even if no one else sees them. People have always said to just worry about the things you can change. It feels true in all of these places. In the end, the best times are when you have a gut feeling and are ready to make a choice, like when you reach the sweet spot or pick a successful transaction.

Rituals that are small are important. Before diving, dry your hands. Socks that bring you luck on game day. A pen I like to use when I write down my money. Even if they don’t make sense, these talismans assist you stay grounded when your mind starts to spiral. If you tell someone outside the group, they will probably laugh. These oddities are what keep them alive. And that’s what keeps the water, snow, racket, and bank statements loosely connected: the courage to face the unknown and the pure, silly delight that comes when things eventually go right.